


Recover

by Glitch1 (The_Glitches)



Series: Entangle [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Prime
Genre: Humor, M/M, Morning After, Starscream's paranoia, interface-related injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7580665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Glitches/pseuds/Glitch1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream's POV. After he wakes from the vigorous interface with Megatron, he attempts to comprehend what had happened and why - while he tries to avoid everyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recover

**Author's Note:**

> Going back to the first interface, this takes place after Contact and alongside Aftermath.

A warning roused him from recharge. It took him longer than it should to recognize the notification on his internal display. He pulled his processors together and addressed his system message, though he already suspected what it was: he was in desperate need of refueling.

Starscream onlined his optics, feeling a noticeable delay from his command to his response time. He was sluggish, not an unfamiliar feeling; he was no stranger to running himself down and suffering the consequences, although in the past it usually preceded punishment from a certain mech. His memory banks were still loading, he couldn’t remember – 

Starscream froze, staring at the wall he had awoken to. The scent of the room found his olfactory senses and another warning popped into his processor: this was not his room. Immediately, the vivid recollection of last night stormed through his CPU. Starscream’s spark palpitated. Had he really… Had they _really_ …?

He jerked up onto an elbow, twisting to view the room – and winced. Pain bolted through his frame from his lower area, a sting of torn mesh. He winced, gritting his denta as more little aches made their existence known, the harshest of which stemmed from the wrist he was leaning on. Shifting his wings and settling onto his back and stinging aft, he examined his crushed wrist. The recollection was still so intense; his plating had buckled beneath Megatron’s strength. That injury bothered him little, he had suffered worse, but the pain in his interface region was new, he had not felt that in… well, never. Whatever girth Megatron had shoved into him had been formidable, that much was certain. The brute.

Primus, they had actually done it. Where had that _come_ from? As far as Starscream was aware there was nothing more than loathing between them anymore. They had an extensive history together in a strictly working capacity, and as such had seen a great many ups and downs of each other, but there had never been anything to indicate something would happen between them. Had there? Starscream liked to think he noticed and saw everything, but that was a lie. He could be so self-involved sometimes, and so absorbed in his work tasks he could – and had – walk into the vehicons standing in the corridors. He knew Megatron watched him silently, observed his assignments and occasionally stared at him when Starscream was idle, but there had never been any lustful weight in his gaze… Right? Megatron enjoyed thrashing him to within an inch of his life, punishing him for faults that could scarcely warrant such drastic beatings. Starscream would never have envisioned they’d end up fragging each other. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely correct – Starscream’s mindset had been altered as of recent events. Megatron had molested him only a few Earth weeks ago. Why? Why now? Nothing had particularly changed. Starscream felt suspicion overcome him. Was Megatron plotting something? Something that required tormenting Starscream in a wholly inappropriate way? Was he _playing_ with him? The cruel slagger! How dare he push his unwanted lusts onto Starscream and leave him whirling in the aftermath, to nurse injuries inflicted by his malicious intentions.

Starscream lowered his arm slowly, more memories processing. Megatron’s treatment had been… _considerate_. He had not been rough, he had used restraint and he had properly prepped Starscream. This realization startled him; he had always assumed Megatron had one setting: Hit hard, whatever the target. Starscream was confused; if Megatron was playing him, would he have been so gentle? Was that a false sense of security to lead the Seeker to? If Megatron wanted pleasure he would _take_ it, no considerations for the recipient, it would be solely for his sick pleasure. So, he _was_ playing Starscream… right? Megatron was _acting_ the part of careful partner? To what end would a strategy employ such an intimate, vulnerable exploit? Surely Megatron would balk at such a carnal action if it was against his desires. He would never partake in an interface unless… he meant it? No. Never. Megatron was doing his best to try and _convince_ Starscream he meant it. 

The cold, empty feeling of Starscream’s tank pressed for his attention. He winced, wishing he had not burnt the majority of his energy during yesterday’s flight excursion. That brainless warlord probably knew this, knew Starscream would offer little resistance with a deprived processor. After what he had done to him, the very least Megatron could do was –

Oh. There, sat within easy reach on the shelving unit sat a cube of energon. Starscream stared, mildly surprised. It was almost _too_ considerate. Suspicion levels rose. Was it drugged? Why would he do that? For what purpose? He wouldn’t risk that, surely…?

Starscream grabbed the energon cube and, after a one-sided debate in which his tank won, downed it quickly, feeling the blissful nutrition fill him. His systems could now supply appropriate power to his motor functions and he felt the energy slowly circulating through him, revitalizing. He gave his wings a stretch, feeling the ghosted touched of Megatron’s large servos. He shuddered.

For the first time since he onlined, the Seeker took a look at the space around him. Megatron’s personal quarters. He had been left in here, alone. How… trusting. Starscream shuffled to the edge of the huge berth and hopped down to the floor, knee locks almost giving out. The pain from his aft shot through him in steady pulses, making him grit his denta and wince. For that, he was definitely going to snoop.

There was very little in the room that wasn’t standard issue for all Nemesis quarters. A berth, a wall-mounted work space and chair, an inbuilt storage cubby and a couple of shelving units. The energon dispenser was a privilege to the Lord of the Decepticons, as was the size of the room, but that was the extent of the differences. Starscream’s attention swayed back to the shelves; there was quite a collection of datapads. In fact they were dotted about everywhere in the room.

Starscream grabbed for a servoful. All but one were reports; his own and one of Soundwaves. The single datapad not of the rest was locked, inaccessible. He shoved them back on the shelf and chose others. They were all inaccessible; Megatron didn’t want anyone reading them, which made Starscream very curious. He set them back, rearranging them as they were, and turned to the room, momentarily indecisive. Something warm trickled down inside of him.

“Uurgh-hh –,” he growled brokenly, both in self-mortification and irritation. His sore vocalizer fritzed and gave a static blip, and he remembered he had stressed it to failure. Great. He limped his way to Megatron’s personal wash rack and, after closing and locking the door, took care of his humiliating business. That oversized hunk of metal had certainly left his evidence not only on but in, and Starscream took full advantage of the large showering faucets to scrub himself clean of any residue. He felt dirty, especially along his thighs where their transfluid had dried. All the while he grumbled tetchily, although he hadn’t the spark to be too bitter. He felt pleasantly mellow and the solvent was so soothing along his plates he felt his usual annoyance ebbing away. The liquid sluiced down his wings and into the joints, and he took note of how sensitive they felt under the hot wash. His hypersensitivity had yet to mitigate, and as such the panes bordered on the edge of soreness. Tch. Megatron had certainly made use of his knowledge. Starscream shivered again, unable to banish the persistent memory files.

When he had given himself a thorough clean, inside platings and out, he stepped beneath the air distributor and dried off, flicking his wings to dispel the heavier of the droplets. He half expected Megatron’s massive bulk to be waiting for him in the berth room, but it was empty. Starscream made it to the door and paused, looking down at his frame. He couldn’t walk out of Megatron’s quarters looking like _this_. Noticeable claw marks embellished his waist, paint transfers marred his chassis and he had a crushed wrist with very identifiable finger dents. Oh, and he couldn’t walk without _fragging-well_ limping! If his entire ensemble didn’t scream ‘just been fragged’ then he didn’t know what did. Humiliation seared through his circuits; how dare Megatron do this to him. Starscream was a walking statement; Megatron had had his way, had finally berthed the Seeker and left his mark. He must feel _so_ proud.

“U-gh,” Starscream growled, spitting on static.

However, remaining in Megatron’s quarters was not an option. He had checked his chronometer in the wash racks and found he was beyond tardy. His recharge had set him out almost an entire solar cycle, it was nearing night time on Earth. Well, he didn’t give a flying scrap about his tardiness. He doubted anyone would notice his absence aside from Soundwave, who would report it to Megatron – who already knew why he was currently out of commission. Starscream sincerely hoped the warlord was not expecting him to ‘walk it off’ and return to his duties punctually, that would be just cruel. If he did, Starscream did not want to be still here when he came looking.

Taking a second to gear himself up, he stabbed the door release and braved the corridor outside. Luckily, it was empty, not entirely a surprise considering very few drones would need to pass by Megatron’s quarters. Quickly, and without his usual stealth given his condition, Starscream hobbled from corner to corner, carefully checking each intersection with the paranoia only he was capable of. When he had successfully avoided a duo of drones he pressed himself into the corridor around the corner of his destination and opened his comm. link – and paused. He couldn’t speak. Verbal communication was not optional. He sent a ping command instead.

A few seconds later, as expected, Knockout appeared from the medical bay doors, sniping about the supposed medical emergency as he rushed off towards the mess hall with his kit in hand.

Starscream watched him go before emerging from his corner and limping into medbay. It didn’t take long for him to find his target, the buffer was never far from Knockout’s servos and always within easy reach. And of course, safely stowed away. That buffer was as precious to the vain doctor as energon was essential to Cybertronians. Starscream closed the low standing storage door with his prize gripped in hand, estimating his remaining time to be dwindling quickly. Knockout would be annoyed with him when he discovered his treasured buffer missing, but Starscream could deal with his ire later. With any luck, it would be back in its storage compartment before Knockout could even notice.

Pilfering complete, the Seeker took his leave, limping his way back through the Nemesis corridors, skulking around corners and dashing to his quarters as quickly as his painful aft could take him. He winced the entire way, working through the stabs of torn mesh. Every twist of his hips reminded him what had caused it, and once inside the safety of his room, he unleashed his curses upon the gladiator through gritted denta. Static interlaced his profanities, and he was forced to continue mentally, sore as his vocalizer was with every use. It would heal if he didn’t aggravate it.

He set about his task at once, buffing away at the shameful marks on his plating with too much haste and his usual acerbic handling. Replays swarmed his processor with surprising tenacity, showing him visions of Megatron rocking over him, his optics staring intensely at Starscream, watching him with a quality that sent more shivers through his frame. He grit his denta harder and tried to ignore the prickle of heat starting to swim through his circuits. No – no, he was _not_ turning himself on with memory playbacks, Megatron was not going to affect him beyond what he had already inflicted. 

_“Relax.”_

Starscream dropped the buffer as a bolt of arousal twitched his servos, the words echoing through his processor. Megatron’s voice had never taken on such a silken, soft essence before. Commanding but comforting, and… No, no, no, no. Starscream picked up the buffer and continued on the deepest of his scratches.

_“Patience.”_

Starscream buffed harder, ignoring the new throb in his interface panel and pretending it was pain.

“Starscream,” Knockout’s voice suddenly came through his comm, loud in the otherwise quiet room. Starscream had been expecting his message. “Why did you send me a false alarm? What are you playing at, hm?”

Starscream opened his mouth, immediately ready to snap at Knockout’s neglect of his Commander title, but caught himself just in time. He didn’t need Knockout to hear his useless spluttering. He cut the comm and ignored the red grounder, turning his attention back to the slowly diminishing marks.

_“Rest.”_

The buffer slipped, grazing across his codpiece as another tremor ran through him. This was ridiculous. He threw the buffer onto his berth in a half-sparked temper tantrum. He needed to occupy his mind, or his processor would keep pelting him with tormenting memories. He did not want to listen to his own demented visions of Megatron rumbling softly in that deceptively smooth tone. The manipulating fragger. 

As if to pester him further, his processor shoved yet more vivid imagery into his awareness. Megatron so close, looming over him, blocking out the overhead lighting so all Starscream could see was _him_. Exploring fingers, deft presses. Large frame. Pushing into him.

Starscream jerked himself from his trance and then gave a painful, fragmented snarl. Curse that Megatron! He wouldn’t be able to _look_ at him without remembering that shameful scene! That was going to prove difficult as Second in Command. He had to train his mind _not_ to think. Starscream grabbed a handful of his own datapads and rifled through them, tossing the discarded ones on his desk. He needed something to engage his processor, something to sink into. Like Megatron sank into – no, no, no!

With a pitiful stab of triumph, Starscream found his collection of downloaded archives from Vos. He used to read these regularly shortly after the loss of Cybertron, but he had neglected them more and more in the disarray of the war. Eons of fighting had presented him with little chance to sit back and reminisce on his home city’s records. Right now, he felt a little comfort reading would help his chaotic processor to settle down.

He moved to his berth and kicked the buffer onto the floor, laying out on his front with the datapad in both servos. Scrap the cause for the time being, scrap everything. Starscream deserved this downtime.

Only a short time passed before he remembered why he rarely succeeded with downtime: He could never sit still for long. With a disgruntled huff, he swung his legs over the edge of his berth – and hissed in pain. That torn mesh would take a while to heal. Starscream checked his chronometer; it was a few breems into the lunar shift on the bridge. All but a few drones would be off duty or recharging, and that would provide the perfect opportunity for Starscream to catch up with his work and keep his mind busy. Without any prying optics. It would be too dark for his marks to be seen clearly; the Nemesis coordinated its lighting to that of Earth’s orbital cycles, so as not to draw unwanted attention should it be seen shining like a beacon in the night sky. It was an effective energy-saver.

With his datapad in hand, and Megatron’s echos chasing him from his room, Starscream stepped back out into the corridor, thankful the light was dim enough to obscure details. He might even get away with his –

“Commander Starscream, are you injured?” Came an eradicon’s question.

Starscream’s shoulder armor tensed noticeably, tight with irritation and barely controlled anger. He turned to find two drones watching him. Warily. Well, he did have a reputation for a volatile nature.

“ _Fine_ ,” he ground out – only to realize his mistake upon the static that erupted instead. He gripped his neck line, grimacing at the sting.

The grounder eradicon stepped forward slightly, carefully, tilting his face mask in – was that concern? “Sir? Would you like me to inform Knockout?”

Starscream bared his denta and clenched a fist at the drone. They both got the message. He then adopted his best command face and dismissed them with a wave, then turned and continued to the bridge, trying to conceal his limp and failing miserably. He would have asked why a pair of drones was walking by his quarters, but that would require verbal communication. Sometimes those that didn’t need recharge were restless and took to wandering around the corridors – although, very _few_ thought it worth the risk to pass by _his_ quarters.

Reading the datapad as he went proved efficient at banishing pesky memory files from surfacing, even if he had to sacrifice independence and use the wall to aid his hobbling a few times. No one saw, and as long as he kept his processor engaged on the words in his servo he didn’t care.

The bridge doors opened with a swift noise, permitting his entrance. He had limped several steps before the sense of optics upon him brought his attention up from his pad. Starscream stopped in his tracks, spark leaping in its chamber.

Even in the dark there was no mistaking Megatron’s frame. His gaze, that same gaze that had so often intimidated him, was fixed resolutely on Starscream. A strong shiver traveled through him, but despite this he was rooted to the spot. His motor functions had seized. Even as Megatron’s optics traveled down his frame, greedily consuming the Seeker’s frozen form, he could do nothing but feel the whispers of their encounter, hear the sounds of his own appalling groans. Quite involuntarily, his optics flickered across the noticeable puncture marks still marring Megatron’s arm. Starscream hadn’t even meant to injure him, and yet he had done more damage _accidentally_ than he ever had _purposely_. Well… maybe that was an exaggeration, but still.

Starscream’s optics darted back to Megatron’s, unnerved by the silence between them. “Lord Megatron,” he croaked before he could think. His words were over-laid with static, aggravating the sting of pain. He closed his lip plates, mentally scolding himself.

His response was more silence, and something curious in the warlord’s optics. Megatron lifted his helm slightly, looking down at his SIC with a demeanor that royally irritated Starscream, but an action that increased the nervous tension within him. Why was Megatron looking at him so? What did he have planned now? Why in Primus’ name was his spark fluttering at the sight of the gladiator? He was angry, yes; humiliated, undoubtedly, but… 

A pulse of warmth spread through him as his traitorous processor revived his memory files. Starscream’s optics fell to the floor, unable to look at Megatron for fear his fans might click on. How mortifying.

“Carry on, Starscream.”

He almost jumped as the words cut through the stillness between them. A sense of apprehension overcame Starscream when Megatron began to approach, but no, he was heading for the door behind. Phew. 

Megatron came to a stop beside him. Ah. With great control, Starscream forced his optics to look at him questioningly. The gladiator’s optics scoured across his frame, falling on the marks that had been poorly treated. “You have not been to medbay.”

Starscream stared for a second. Did this idiot seriously think he would let _anyone_ see the scratches he had pawed all over him? Especially the _doctor_. His efforts to dull them may have been a tad sloppy, but they were not as obvious. “I will take care of them,” he replied curtly with static, turning his optics away.

The following silence had Starscream hoping he would leave. Megatron would undoubtedly be conceited with the blatant display he had carved into his SIC; he would allow him to walk around a bit longer broadcasting it. So it was on the warlord’s next words that surprised Starscream.

“You will go to medbay now and have Knockout repair you.”

Starscream was wrong; Megatron didn’t want him strutting his marks, he wanted Knockout to jeer at him. The Seeker spun around and glared. “I don’t _need_ Knockout. I can take care of it myself.”

Something unreadable gleamed under the carefully constructed scowl on Megatron’s face. “You _will_ report to medbay.”

Starscream’s easily provoked irritation reared its impulsive head, and he turned to face the warlord fully, wings tight with ire. He took a second to forcefully rein back his temper. “Knockout is in recharge,” he snapped. “Unless you want me to divulge certain information and drag him from his quarters, it can wait until morning.” He didn’t know where his boldness was rising from, but he felt a tiny thrill of exhilaration at speaking in such a manner to the tyrant. “I’m sure our dear doctor would like to know why our _Lord and Master_ felt it necessary to order me to medbay.”

His temporary brashness faltered almost as quickly as it had arisen at the sight of Megatron’s twitching lip plate. A large servo rose and gripped his chin, making Starscream’s spark flip. He might later pride himself of mastery over his composure (or deny it was simply frozen in fear), but the thought passing through his processor at that moment was how that same servo fondled his wings only a cycle ago. How it had ignited fire in his circuits and sent him careening into a vocalizer-shattering overload. That same servo lifted his face to stare directly into Megatron’s optics.

“You should watch your tone when addressing your Master,” the mech said in a low tenor. An imperceptible shudder coursed through Starscream as he recalled how that same voice had spoken to him on the berth. Megatron’s thumb brushed across the Seeker’s face plate, running over the edge of his bottom lip piece. A much sharper, noticeable tremor struck him, and he knew Megatron had felt it. He wanted to be angry, but at such a close proximity to the mech who had _taken_ him left Starscream a paralyzed fool. His weakness disgusted himself.

After what felt like an age, Megatron released his chin and stood straight. Starscream hadn’t realized he had bent down close, hadn’t realized how near they had really been.

“I expect you to see Knockout first thing tomorrow.”

Starscream’s paralysis broke and he frowned, flummoxed. Why? Why did Megatron want him at the mercy of the insufferable doctor’s wit? Everyone knew Knockout liked to tease Starscream, he was the only subordinate officer who _did_ (and Primus knows why Starscream’s threats didn’t work). There was no reason for Megatron to demand something so trivial. No reason but spite. He _wanted_ Starscream to be humiliated. The damned piece of scrap thrived on the Seeker’s unfortunate circumstances whenever they occurred. A flare of anger burned through Starscream. He knew he couldn’t disobey; his limp was not something he could conceal, and he himself wouldn’t be able to smooth out his wrist armor. Curse Megatron.

Said mech had already begun to walk away. The door omitted him and closed behind his exit, leaving the dark bridge to Starscream – who started suddenly. There was a single drone at the navigation console watching.

“What are you looking at?” Starscream snarled, quickly masking his startle. How much had the drone seen? What had he extrapolated from that conversation? Paranoia ate at the Seeker’s CPU. The drone would tell the others, news would spread. Never mind Knockout’s teasing, the entire _army_ would know Megatron had berthed him. He’d be objectified – he would lose his hard earned reputation! No!

The drone edged back fearfully as the furious Seeker stormed up to him (with as much dignity as his limp allowed), wings rigid and high in a threatening display, one dangerously long, sharp talon pointed at him.

“You will _forget_ you heard _anything_ here!” Starscream barked. “If I discover you have divulged any information discussed I will personally hunt you down and rip your spark chamber from your chassis! Do you understand?!”

“Y-yes, Sir!” The drone babbled.

“What is your designation?” The Seeker demanded.

“RO-572, Commander Starscream!”

Starscream narrowed his optics and glared. “I will remember that,” he threatened. “Now get out!”

The drone couldn’t comply fast enough, and once the door closed swiftly behind him, Starscream felt the stiff tension give just a notch. An assortment of erratic emotions spilt through him, each conflicting with the next. Oh how he wished things would just go as he wanted them, yet here he was, having to clean up the mess Megatron had made not only on _him_ , but also the carelessness with which he conducts everything. _He_ may not suffer if gossip started sprouting around the troops, but Starscream certainly would. Not that _he_ would care.

“Degenerate, good-for-nothing oaf of a scrapheap,” Starscream growled under his outtake.

He absolutely, _absolutely_ did not shiver at another memory reload.


End file.
